Wendell & Monica Wilkens
by izzybellared
Summary: Hermione's parents are safely in Australia, enjoying a carefree early retirement until "Monica Wilkens" spots a familiar looking girl with bushy hair...


Wendell and Monica Wilkins sat on the deck of the touring boat, the sun warming their faces. The boat ride had been a lark-typical of Wendell to think of it, thought Monica. She liked the gentle rocking motion of the waves and the briny smell of the sea. The warmth suited her. So different from dreary England with its icy mists and dank atmosphere. It had gotten worse at the end before Wendell's sudden submission to his long-held dream of living in Australia.

Monica didn't even realize Wendell had cherished such a dream, but he had, and Monica herself had proved surprisingly easy to convince. Why shouldn't they retire early and move to Australia? London was such a depressing place to live these days, after all. The government was bungling things up, as usual. Why, hadn't that practically brand-new bridge collapsed last summer, killing all those people? And the crime rate was undergoing a dramatic increase. They couldn't even control crime near Parliament. Some poor woman was killed in a terrible struggle-doors locked from the inside. What were they about letting such things happen in their own backyard? No, Monica reflected, Australia was a much nicer place to be. And yet, Monica was not content. There was something itching in the back of her mind, some restlessness that wouldn't quiet down.

"Enjoying yourself?" Wendell asked.

Monica looked up at her husband and smiled. "Always," she said.

Wendell glanced sharply at her. Monica could tell he wasn't fooled by her amiable reply. She had been a bit distracted all day. "You alright?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

"Yes, yes, of course I am." Wendell raised one eyebrow and Monica sighed. He could be too perceptive sometimes. "Truly, I am. It's just…" She trailed off. Wendell waited expectantly for her to continue. "I feel like something's missing. I know it's silly, it's beyond absurd. I love it here, but I feel like I left something important back home."

Understanding flashed across his face, and Wendell patted her on the arm. "Kind of like you left the light on or something-I know that feeling. Don't worry, I checked. Everything was packed up tight. We didn't leave anything behind," he reassured her.

That wasn't what she meant, but there was no use explaining it to him. It wasn't a light left on or the garage door left open. Nothing trivial like that. No, she felt like it was something truly important. Some part of her soul perhaps, that was left behind. Although that was silly too, she reflected. A soul can't be in two places at once. She shook her head as if shaking the thoughts off her. She should just enjoy what was left of the boat ride as they'd be docking shortly.

She reached over and grasped Wendell's hand and squeezed. "How about a drink? No, I'll get it," she said, as Wendell started to rise. "You sit here and enjoy the ocean breeze. Be right back."

She navigated gingerly around a large group, a family with a number of rowdy children, and made her way over to the small bar, where she ordered two glasses of white wine. "Whatever you have. Doesn't matter." She looked back at the family. There were seven of them and most were laughing and rough-housing and generally having a grand time. One of them, though, a teenage girl with curly brown hair, sat a bit outside of it all, her nose stuck in a book. Monica felt a curious pang at the sight. She'd been much the same in her youth and it seemed for a moment as if she was back in school herself, reading away her cares and discovering such strange and wonderful new worlds she'd never imagined existed.

The young girl quite suddenly glanced up from her book and made eye contact with Monica. To her own surprise, Monica smiled, the lines creasing at the corner of her eyes. The girl smiled back shyly, and then indicating her energetic family with a nod of her head, rolled her eyes. Monica laughed and the girl laughed too.

"Here you are, ma'am." The bartender set two glasses of white wine in front of Monica.

She thanked him and made her way back over to Wendell. As she passed the family, the youngest was grabbing the book out of the girl's hands. "You have to play, too!! No books for the rest of the trip!" The girl shrieked and followed him as an older brother joined the game of keep-away.

Monica laughed again as she handed Wendell his wine.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"The family just over there. The girl with the curly hair reminds me a little of myself at that age." Wendell turned around to look, and after a moment, Monica sighed. "Wendell," she said quietly, "do you ever wish we'd had children?"

He studied his wife's face before answering. "Well, sometimes, I suppose. But if we had children, we wouldn't be able to up and go to Australia on a whim now, would we? "

"I suppose not," she agreed. "But then if we had children, it'd be worth staying home for them."

"I guess so." Monica knew Wendell was happy how things were, but he wasn't the sort to dismiss her feelings when she became 'philosophical," as he liked to put it. He nodded and smiled warmly at her. "If we had children, I'd want a girl as smart and beautiful as you."

Despite many years of marriage, Monica found herself blushing a little at the compliment. Wendell wasn't ordinarily quite so effusive. "A girl would have been nice," she agreed. "But better for her to look like you. At the least, she should have your hair. Mine's a bit unruly. Doesn't stay put."

"I love your hair," Wendell protested. "It's one of the first things that attracted me to you. And anyway, she wouldn't want my hair as it's currently falling out. I'm looking more and more like my father every day. Old. Bald."

She laughed loudly, drawing a curious stare from a bystander. "You look distinguished, not old. There's a huge difference. And you aren't bald _yet_," she said, emphasizing the last word teasingly. Wendell chuckled.

"Thanks for the reassurance."

They sat in silence for a while, Wendell watching the motion of the waves; Monica watching the rowdy family. The curly-haired young woman had subdued her younger brother and gotten her book back. Presently, she was sitting on a deck chair a slight distance from her family, once again absorbed in her book. Monica wondered what she was reading-if it was something new or something she might have read in her girlhood.

"Hermione," Monica whispered.

"What's that?" asked Wendell, jerking his head back toward her.

Monica blinked a moment in confusion and then realized. Hermione. It was a name she'd loved from the first moment she read it in Shakespeare's play. She used to wish she had an interesting name like that. Monica was so dull, so unimaginative. Hermione, now. That was a good name-one she thought she'd like to give to her now-mythical daughter. But no sense in discussing it with Wendell. It didn't signify anyway. There weren't any children and there never would be.

"Nothing," she said. "Just a name I've always liked." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled apologetically at Wendell. "I'm sorry I've been in a bit of funk today. I'm better now, I promise. It is nice here, just you and me. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me either." Wendell clasped her hand in his and they watched out over the ocean together.


End file.
